Don't Kid Yourself
by Victorious Ashtree
Summary: James/OMC, James/Lily, Sirius/James. James Potter is as straight as an arrow, as are his friends. But . . . but . . . Growing up, isn't it about learning? And James, James cannot help but be just a little curious about the other side of the tracks.
1. Chapter 1

Just something I've been writing that I decided was far too long to put up in a single post. So, I've decided to post it in chapter form! :D

Title: Don't Kid Yourself

Rating: M

Pairings: James/OMC, James/Lily, Sirius/OMC, one-sided James/Sirius

Warnings: Slash, man sex, straight sixth year Gryffindors shagging Slytherin blokes, blatant misuse of British words, Sirius being a prat, James being a prat, the Marauders being prats . . . And I think that's it . . .

* * *

Sirius Black, as far as James Potter is concerned, is the world's biggest fucking arsehole.

James slams Sirius against the tile before a word can leave that stupid fucking mouth of his. His head bounces off the wall with a sharp crack, but James can't find it in himself to care.

"The hell, Prongs–"

"Where. Were. You?" James grits. He gives Sirius a stiff shake for good measure. "Where the fuck were you?"

"Look, I know you're sore, mate, but–"

"'But' what? What the fuck is more important than the fucking Cup, man?"

A sleazy grin splits Sirius' face, and soon, James _knows_. He knows, and he can't fucking believe it.

He spits in disbelief, "You randy shit!" He shoves Sirius away and turns on his heel, throwing his hands up in a rage.

And Sirius, Sirius fucking laughs.

"Oh, c'mon! You have no fucking idea just how–"

"I don't want to know just how big her tits were or how fucking tight her twat was."

Sirius waves his hand as if to dismiss the idea. "No, no! Mate, you will not believe this!"

"You're fucking right I don't believe it! You figured that having off with some bird was more important than the fucking Quidditch Cup!"

"That's just it!"

James brow furrows. "What is?"

Sirius' eyes shine brightly. Sweat beads along his brow. His ears take a heavy red colour. Something isn't right.

"_What is_?"

"It wasn't a bird, Prongs," Sirius says in a rush, "It wasn't . . . wasn't . . ." His words drown into nonsensical muttering.

James feels his jaw slacken.

"What . . . Mate, what are you . . ."

"I'm not saying I'm bent, Prongs, I'm not, because I'm not bent, Prongs, I'm not. But . . . But . . ."

"_But_?"

Sirius' breathing evens; a flush overtakes his face. He looks . . . looks . . . gone. Just . . . not there. Somewhere else. Somewhere far. It doesn't make much sense, but . . . it does.

It doesn't sit well with James' stomach.

James doesn't hear what Sirius says. A part of him doesn't want to hear it. A part of him . . . a part of him wants to _know_, wants to know what did this to him.

* * *

"That's him over there," Sirius whispers, close too close.

It takes James a moment to realize what his friend is talking about. The second he does, his eyes dart to where Sirius' finger points across the Great Hall.

"A Slytherin?" James almost laughs. "Don't you have any class?"

"Shut up."

"What're you two talking about?" comes Remus' voice, incredulous and hoarse. James jerks as Remus slides into the seat next him, Peter taking the seat across.

"Nothing," Sirius mutters, lowering his hand.

"Looked like you were pointing at the Slytherins," Peter says. There's an eagerness in his voice that fills James with satisfaction. "You have something planned for them, yeah?"

Sirius grins and snatches a banger before Peter's fork can pierce it. James sniggers at Peter's distress. "Not right now, Wormy," he says, ignoring the look that crosses Remus' face. "Maybe later, but not now."

There's an alternate meaning to what Sirius says, but James doesn't catch it until too late.

* * *

Feedback is greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a little short, so I decided to add another chapter or two . . . :D

* * *

James doesn't pay attention to the bloke that walks into the loo after him. After all, he has his prick in his hand, so thinking of another bloke is definitely _not on_.

He does pay attention, however, when the bloke decides to use the urinal right beside him. There is awkwardness, at least for James, when the bloke says, "Hey."

The corner of James' mouth twitches. "Hey," he grits. He finishes, hastily tucks himself in his trousers, and pulls away from the urinal to the sink. He catches a small chuckle from the bloke.

"Not the sociable type, huh?"

"Not when I'm taking a leak."

The bloke laughs, loud, and it fills James with nausea. He scowls, twitching when he runs the tap too hot.

"S'all right." James hears the bloke finish and sidle to the sink beside him. "Sirius said you might be like that."

James' head jerks up to the mirror before he can stop himself. The bloke in the mirror smiles, but all James can see is the green and white tie around his neck. Green and white.

He swallows. "Did he, now? What else did he say?"

The bloke smirks. "Some interesting things."

* * *

They plan for that Saturday. Odd thing, really, scheduling sex.

* * *

Feedback is greatly appreciated. :D


	3. Chapter 3

He really doesn't want to ask it. Really, _really _doesn't. But, it's Friday already and he just has to _know_.

Sirius doesn't seem to expect it.

"W-What?" he sputters. The look on his face is comical. "What are you talking about, Prongs?"

He expects him to say it again, the cunt! James takes a shaky inhale.

"How do you do it? This . . . this gay sex thing?" The words are foreign to him, at least in that order. It's as if they never come from his lips.

But they do; the look on his mate's face is unmistakable.

"You're going through with it, then?" Sirius inquires, a knowing smirk catching his lips.

James' eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Thought you'd lose your bottle at the sight of his prick." The words drown into a fit of muffled giggles that sends Madame Pince into a shushing frenzy.

It fills James with rage; he can feel it rising in his face in a dark flush. He stands abruptly with a clatter of the chair.

It's when he reaches the Common Room that he realizes that his question was never answered.

* * *

A miniscule and irreverent part of him wishes he'd gotten a look of the bloke's prick when he had the chance. A larger and saner part tells him he should have bashed Sirius' face in and to stand that pouf up.

Remus had always wondered why James could never listen to inner voice. If he knew what it was saying, he'd understand why.

Remus might understand his situation more than others.


	4. Chapter 4

James wakes Saturday morning from a nightmare of cocks and arses and faggots and Slytherins.

The worst part of it, though, is the fact that he's hard. Harder than steel. Harder than Sirius' idiot head.

James Potter is not a fucking faggot.

His prick begs to differ.

* * *

Finding Remus' dirty mags is far more difficult than James' thought it'd be. A lost cause, almost.

Lady Luck is on his side, that is for sure: Sirius and Remus are pleasantly absent from the dormitory, and Peter's hippogriff snores ring from behind the scarlet curtains of his bed. James slips from his quilt and creeps over to Remus' bed. He really shouldn't bother – nothing on this planet could possible awake Wormy – but it is better to be safe than sorry.

Beneath Moony's bed is spotless. Not a speck of dust, let alone smut. The drawers are orderly, too: socks only slightly ruffled; underwear orderly and folded in neat triangles (James sniggers); collared shirts, an extra tie or two. Nothing of particular interest, really.

He is about to give up when he hears Peter stirring, his snores dying down every few minutes. That is until he spots it, something peeking from beneath – no, inside Remus' pillowcase.

* * *

James never really took Remus as the pin-up sort of type, but there it is, pages upon pages of that Muggle Yvonne Craig. James' Jr. twitches. He must've gotten it from his dad; each magazine is from the 60s.

This means Remus isn't queer then, doesn't it? Well, damn.

* * *

James finds a picture of Remus' mum. A major babe, that one.

He finds a camera, too. He wonders if Remus took the picture. He wonders where the other pictures are.


	5. Chapter 5

"Today's the big day, yeah?"

"How did you–" The words are out of James' mouth before he can stop them. The grin – that fucking grin – splits Sirius' face again. James' face hardens. "Close buddies with the Slytherin, are you?"

Sirius drops beside him on the bench, overlooking the Quidditch Pitch. His nose scrunches as a strong gust of wind rattles their ears.

"S'cold as shit, mate. What're you doing out here?"

"Sirius."

"Hm?"

"Why do you want me to fuck this bloke?"

There is silence, save for the whirling roar of wind around them.

"Dunno, really. Just some fun."

"I don't believe you."

"Didn't think you would."

He asks Sirius if he's queer. Sirius says he isn't. James doesn't believe that either.

* * *

They meet right after dinner, in an abandoned History of Magic classroom. The fifth door from the loo where they first met.

He stares at the door. It's old and stone, unlike the newer ones that are wood and far more homely. He's surprised his feet managed to take him this far.

The knob turns; he jumps.

"Are you going to stand there all night, Potter?"

"What? Oh, right."

The bloke smiles when he walks in; he slides onto one the desks and crosses his legs.

"Hey."

Swallowing, James closes the door behind him. He can't help the queasiness rising in him, just as he can't help the leap his chest gives at the sight of the Slytherin.

"Hey, yourself."

* * *

"I . . . What do I do?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean . . . fuck, stop fucking laughing!"

"Sorry, sorry! I mean, shit man! Are you a–a–?"

"I'm not, you fucking ponce! I've never done it with a bloke before, is all."

"Never?"

"Never."

James can't help but stare, wide-eyed, when the bloke slides off the desk and kneels at his feet.

The bloke smiles; James' breath catches.

"I'll go easy on you today."

Today?


	6. Chapter 6

He's never had someone nibble on his prick before. The second the bloke does, James is coming with a shout, a curse, a prayer. And the bloke stays latched onto his prick, no matter how hard James tugs at his hair. (It's curly brown hair, slightly greasy hair; James cringes and thinks of Snape. That nausea is coming back again.) He only pulls away when the shudders stop, his lips bulging with – dear Merlin, fuck – his come.

A strand of come dribbles from the bloke's lips as he fucking swallows, swallows it all.

James stares, because . . . fuck. Just fuck.

Girls don't swallow. They . . . they _never_ swallow.

* * *

They sit beside each other, shirts disheveled, trousers disheveled. They share a cigarette.

The bloke's leg brushes up against his. James finds himself brushing back. He freezes when he realizes he is.

"So . . . we going t' leave this as a one-off?"

"I . . . I dunno." James fidgets.

The bloke laughs. "Not asking for a ring, mate. Another lay, is all. Up for it?"

This wasn't a lay, James thinks. Not technically.

"I'll think about it."

He feels a little sick saying it.

* * *

James doesn't notice he's heading for the Common Room until he gets there. The Fat Lady mutters something about telling McGonagall of his late night escapades, but he doesn't hear it. All he can think about is Lily Evans. Beautiful, beautiful fucking Evans.

He wonders why she hasn't crossed his mind until now.


	7. Chapter 7

Sirius asks him how it went. James tells him he isn't sure.

The mutt looks disappointed.

"Did you shag?"

"S'not your business."

"So you _didn't_ shag?"

James scowls. "If you must know: no, we didn't."

"What'd you do, then?"

"He sucked me off."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Sirius' face brightens. "You _have_ to shag him, man. That's where the magic is."

There's the patter of feet; they freeze. Peter's voice echoes outside the dormitory door. Remus is behind him, no doubt. A pair, those two are.

It takes a moment to realize that Sirius is waiting for a response.

James doesn't give it to him.

All he knows is that he is never seeing that bloke ever again.

* * *

He sends a letter to Lily, sends it that morning before breakfast.

The owl stares at him with bright yellow eyes; somehow, it must know what he's done.

"You wouldn't understand," James sighs. "_I_ barely understand."

Naturally, the bird doesn't listen and flies off mid-sentence.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're really losing it, Prongsie."

Sirius' voice brings him back to reality. A reality where three pairs of eyes are on him: Remus' full of concern, Peter's confusion, and Sirius' mirth. A reality where he, apparently, has been staring blankly at Evans across the table for a good while.

James gives a reassuring grin, and ruffles his hair. "Yeah. Might be, mate, might be."

"Asked Evans out again, did you?" Peter pipes conversationally. "Where to?"

"Hogsmeade."

Remus raises his eyebrow. Around a banger, he comments, "It's Sunday. The Hogsmeade trip was yesterday."

"The next trip, then. I didn't state when, really."

"She's said no a thousand times."

James can't stop his grin. "You know what they say: a thousand rejections have to equal at least one acceptance."

"Who's said that?"

"Me, of course."

Sirius snorts. "Reliable, that."

-

James doesn't get a reply that day.


	9. Chapter 9

It's easy enough to botch Snape's potion Monday. He tosses a pinch of dried Billywig stings into his cauldron when the snake turns to scribble onto his Potion's text. Peter sniggers beside him (his Potions partner as always) and it takes a lot of willpower to not smile himself.

The bang is instantaneous; Snape whips around just as fast and falls from his chair. James can't help the cackle that leaves his mouth. In the bedlam, no one notices.

No one but Lily.

-

He doesn't realize just how desperately he wants her to say "yes" until he watches her tear the letter in half right in his face.

Something akin to rage wells in his chest. The urge to strike her, to take the two halves of the letter fluttering to the floor and fucking _shove them down her throat_, seizes him. He rids of the thought immediately.

-

Charmed.

Charmed.

Real.

Charmed.

Definitely Charmed.

Huh. Freckled. But Charmed.

James stares blankly at the page for a moment longer before he tosses the magazine to the side. He plops back into the pillow with a sigh, his hand still down his y-fronts. He sighs again, this one far more miserable.

He can't get hard.

Why can't he get hard?

The Charmed/real game _always_ gets him hard!

Why not today?


	10. Chapter 10

"Padfoot."

"Nnngh."

"Pads. Wake up."

"Mmm . . . want some more of that, baby?"

"What?"

"Course you do, Nicky."

"Sirius, I mean it. Cut it out and _wake up_."

"Yeah, Nicholas, you know you want it – _ow_!"

-

Sirius' eyes are wide as James shakes him by the collar of his pajamas. The look on his face must relay his feelings, because Sirius looks petrified.

"James! What're you doing in my bed? And what're you–"

"Since when did you fantasize about blokes?" James hisses darkly, giving his friend another firm shake. He doesn't mean to sound so severe, but that doesn't change the fact that he does.

"I – I – what are you talking about, mate?"

"Nicholas? Who is he? Is he that Slytherin? Is that his name?"

A flush burns Sirius' face. "You've completely lost it, Prongs. I mean it."

"Answer me!"

"No."

"_What_?"

"No, that isn't the Slytherin's name.

James blinks. He's surprised he actually answered. That's when he notices that Sirius barely has his eyes open, is barely out of sleep. That Lady Luck . . . she is a blessing.

He releases Sirius' collar; Sirius falls back into the pillows.

"What's his name, then?"

"Why?"

"Don't ask why! Just tell me."

Sirius runs a hand over his eyes and sighs.

"What time is it?"

"Who cares? What's the bloke's name?"

"I don't remember."

"_Try_," James urges. "Fucking _try_."

Sirius falls silent for a moment. Then, "Max-something, I think."

"Max? Like Maxwell?"

"Nah. Like Maximus or Maximillian or some stupid Pureblood name like that."

James figures that's the closest he'll get to a name. "Where can I find him?"

"Shit, mate! Four o'clock!"

"_Where can I find him_?" James growls and clutches Sirius' clothes again. "Tell me!"

"_Why_?"

James shakes him. Sirius looks terrified. Rightfully terrified. "Because." They stare at each other in silence. Then, Sirius' flabbergasted state slips into one of realization.

"Evans said no." It's a statement.

It isn't as if he could possibly deny it. "Yeah."

"You're going to see that Slytherin again."

" . . . Maybe."

Sirius sits up, intrigued by this turn of events. He folds his arms, eyes pointedly focused on his toes. He swallows, loudly.

"Get in here."

"What?"

"Just. Get. In. Here," Sirius grits. "And close the curtain, yeah?"

Hesitantly, James takes a quick look at the beds around him. Then, he complies, crawling onto the foot of the bed and closing the curtain. He sits, preparing for a conversation he doesn't think he's ready to have.


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm not queer, Padfoot."

"Didn't say you were. I was saying–"

"You asked me if I was queer. I am not queer."

"I didn't say you were, mate! I just–"

"_You're_ the one dreaming about some "Nicholas"! _You're_ the faggot!"

James chokes at the hand around his throat. The nails cut into his neck. Sirius comes in close, close and lethal.

He notices the blue flecks in his silver eyes.

"Shut. Your. Fucking. Gob. Potter."

Sirius tosses him away, wrenches open the curtain, and slides off the bed. He stomps off to the loo and wakes the room's other occupants in the process.

James sighs. Closest to a kiss he's gotten in weeks.

-

He wonders if the Slytherin – Max – kisses on the lips. Or maybe he's too Pureblood for that.

He decides he ought to find that out. For curiosity's sake, of course.


	12. Chapter 12

Sirius doesn't talk to him at all Wednesday. Remus notices it, but says nothing. Peter notices it, but says too much. Sirius doesn't talk to him at all, no, but James is sure he did talk to _someone_ when the bloke waltzes into the loo behind him.

"Well, well, Potter. If we continue meeting like this–"

"Yeah, well, I was about to say the same thing about you."

James zips up his trousers and leans against the sink. He folds his arms and eyes the bloke. He sees the Slytherin's lips, and he gets hard. Gets hard so fast, his mind spins.

The Slytherin gives a lopsided grin.

"You look like shit, Potter."

"I feel like shit, Max."

The bloke's eyebrow quirks. He walks forward and leans in, his arms folded.

"You know my name."

"Your nickname."

"Who told you my name?"

The bloke is so close James can feel the warmth of his breath. He remembers that breath over his skin. He licks his lips.

"Black, told me."

"Older one, right?"

"Of course."

Max nods thoughtfully. His gaze wanders to the mirror behind James. He clicks his tongue.

"Are you free Saturday–"

"Same time?" James blurts eagerly.

A smirk catches the Slytherin's lip.

"Same time, same place."

-

The "Why don't you ask a girl out?" remains unsaid. But James can sense it on the bloke's tongue. He isn't sure what he would've said had he asked. He doesn't have an answer.

Ugh. Best not think about the bloke's tongue.


	13. Chapter 13

The look on Peter's face is comical. James can feel it burning through his Transfiguration text, and he _has_ to fucking ask.

"What's got you so happy, Wormtail?"

Peter flashes him a giddy grin and throws down his parchment.

"'S the beginning of the month."

" . . . And?"

Peter looks dumbfounded. Remus sighs, lowering his book.

"The new issue of Playwizard, mate," he states evenly, "Pete's pretty hyped about it."

"It's the special anniversary issue," Peter hisses, "Not that asexual Moony here would understand."

Remus frowns from behind his book. "Fuck you, Wormtail."

Peter sticks out his tongue. "You wish, mate. Have you ever even _been_ with a girl?"

"As far as I'm concerned, late-night groping with some smashed girl doesn't count as 'being with a girl'. I have standards."

"I still say I win."

James can't help but snicker at his friends. He also can't help but stare at Sirius' vacant seat. For a second he wonders if he's having it off with some bird or that _Slytherin_. He wonders why he cares.

-

Thursday James has the same dream of cocks and arses and faggots and Slytherins. Only now he can distinguish said cocks and arses and faggots and Slytherins. It's his cock, and the bloke's faggoty, Slytherin arse. And the Slytherin's greasy, curly hair and the Slytherin's sleazy, crooked smile and the Slytherin's green and white tie stuffed into his mouth.

When James wakes, he wanks without a second thought. He stuffs his hand into his pajamas, stuffs his face into the crook of his arm, and he wanks. Wanks fast, wanks hard. Wanks like that bloke sucked him.

He comes with Lily's blessed name on his lips. But when he looks at the come on his hands, he imagines the bloke licking every drop from his fingers.

-

He begs Peter to borrow an issue, the very _best_ issue, of Playwizard that he may have. Luckily for James, Peter will do just about anything for some of his nan's baking.


	14. Chapter 14

Thursday night James skips studying and makes his way to the field, broom in hand. It's a warm night, warm enough for him to leave his school robes in the dorm whilst he creeps downstairs.

He passes a broom shed. A very vocal broom shed.

James freezes mid-step, the hushed laughs and shuffling of a midnight lay piquing his interest. His Prefect instincts, as warped as they are, kick in. That, and the cruel fact he's aching to catch someone in the act. He snickers to himself as he tiptoes to the broom shed.

He presses his ear to the door, heart pounding and mouth grinning.

"Yeah," James hears Sirius' rich voice coo; it sparks something in his chest that leads right to his cock. "Like it when I fuck you like–" The shed gives a creaky shudder and a moan, soft and smooth and most definitely not female, slices through the silence. James swallows the gasp that threatens to leave his lips.

"Fuck yeah," comes the breathy, almost non-existent reply. "Fuck yeah, man. Just keep fucking me! _Harder_!" Shit, speaking of hard . . . James gropes at the growing bulge in his trousers and wishes he'd taken his robes with him. Damn it all.

He can't bring himself to move. He wonders how long he'll stand there rubbing his prick through his trousers like a twelve-year-old.

Not very long, he realizes. With a final creaky lurch from the shed, Sirius cries out, the bloke moaning encouragements that make James want to explode. He has to put a hand to the door to stop himself from falling.

Everything falls silent, save for the panting breaths of the three of them.

"Did you come?"

"Does it look like I came?"

There's shuffling.

"_You're just going to leave, you fuck_?" comes the bloke's screech.

And James hears Sirius laugh.

"Let Potter take care of it, faggot."

Max. It's – It's that Slytherin. It's _him_.

The door creaks, and James hides around the corner of the shed. Sirius steps out with a crunch. Sirius, disheveled but oh so smooth, turns the corner and looks right at James.

"Hey, Prongs."

It takes James a moment to collect his bearings. He merely stares at his friend. Sirius ambles over and gives his shoulder a small shake.

Sirius leans in close to his ear. The thick smell of liquor makes James cringe.

"Go on, mate. Broke him in for you."

He wanders away. James can't seem move, to breath, to _think_.

-

James wonders if it's possible to feel sorry for a Slytherin.

-

The broom shed seems smaller than it normally does. There are clothes draped everywhere. On the brooms, the Quidditch equipment; basically on everything they shouldn't be on.

There's a green and white tie at his feet.

He looks up, and stares.

The Slytherin stands before him, nude as the day he was born. There's genuine shock on his face. But, it leaves as soon has it had arrived. His eyes are empty. So is the bottle of whisky held limply in his hand.

"You just going to stand there, Potter?" The words are slurred and unclear. "Get in, or get out."

James finds himself stepping in and closing the door behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

"You've never been with another bloke before, right?"

James pauses from undoing his trousers to glance at the bloke. Those greasy curls are hanging in the Slytherin's face; he tells himself it's anything but kind of, sort of, _maybe_ nice-looking.

"Right."

The Slytherin sighs and leans against one of the shelves. Old, wooden shelves. Old, wooden shelves with so many splinters that no sane man would touch it, let alone lean against it _naked_. The Slytherin does, though, and he even smiles at James.

"Potter?"

James shrugs out of his trousers and stands in only his shirt, tie, and y-fronts. He hopes the bloke's looking; he wants him to _look_.

"Yeah?"

" . . . Nothing. Never mind."

The bloke's voice cracks.

-

Slytherins are warmer than they appear.

James learns how to prepare a bloke. He learns just how to twist his fingers inside the Slytherin's arse in a way that makes his hips jerk. The 'prostate', he calls it, and, by the way the bloke grunts, James decides he ought to get better acquainted with it.

"How do you want it?" James asks.

The bloke is leaning against the shed's wall, leg perched on a case of equipment, his bits displayed proudly. His face is a pink, a thin sheen of sweat dripping from his eyelashes. He smiles, and, damn it all, James feels a flutter in his chest.

"How do _you_ like it?" He asks, his chest heaving. "This is about you, you know."

Spoken like a true whore.

"Missionary."

"Missionary?"

"Missionary. Face to face."

The bloke laughs, hard.

"How Gryffindor."


	16. Chapter 16

Finally! The sex scene! XD I guess I should apologize about the major build-up and short chapters . . . Uh . . . sorry?

* * *

James likes the way the bloke's thighs hug his waist. Then again, he likes it when _anyone's_ thighs hug his waist.

"Go slow," the bloke instructs, "Just push in – _slowly_."

"I get it," James grits.

He doesn't listen, though. He just _thrusts_, stuffs the bloke full of Gryffindor cock in a single go. The bloke cries out in pain, but that only spurs James on.

"Fuck, Potter! Watch it!"

"Ow! What?"

"You fucker! _Ow_. You fucking fucker, Potter!"

"_What_?"

"That hurt! That fucking _hurt_! I said to go slowly, Potter, _slowly_!"

"I just thought you were used to this kind of thing–"

"Do you fuck girls like this, you arsehole?"

"Yeah, I do . . . _Oi_! What's wrong with the way I fuck?"

"_Everything_! You just fucking _stabbed_ your prick in me. There's . . . I mean, finesse, Potter, finesse! You ever heard of it?"

"Fuck you, you fucking . . . fucking . . ."

"What are going to call me, huh? A faggot? Ha!"

"Shut up–"

"You're the one with your prick up my arse."

"Shut up! Or I swear, I _swear_ . . ."

"Will you just fuck me all ready?"

They both fall silent at that.

* * *

James finds an easy rhythm in that – tight! Oh fuck oh fuck, _tight_! – arse. Slytherin legs are hooked around his waist, Slytherin arms around his neck, and Slytherin nails in his shoulder blades.

Girls aren't this wild. Girls don't make it hurt so _good_.

A sight they must be, rutting against each other on a makeshift bed of their robes. He wouldn't be able to tell, really. His glasses are gone; the bloke knocked them off earlier.

James comes before he means to, a bruising hand on the bloke's hips and another in the bloke's (greasySlytherinSnape) hair. Fuck, it is so wrong, he thinks as the bloke's insides contract around his sputtering prick. It's so wrong, but feels so fucking _right_.

The Slytherin gasps when James pulls out with a pop, his prick giving a final pathetic shudder before falling limp against the bloke's leg.

It hits him then: he just spunked _inside_ the bloke. Definitely can't do that one with girls. Fuck, he spunked _in_ him, and the bloke doesn't seem to have a problem with it!

There is a tense moment of silence as James regains his breath, his bearings, his _sanity_. He realizes through his dazed state that the bloke's mouth is moving, and sound is apparently coming out.

"What?" James croaks, suddenly thirsty, suddenly tired. "What'd you say?"

"You came in me."

The bloke's lips are so close. James has the urge to kiss him. He's disgusted by the thought.

"Sorry."

The bloke shoves James off so he can sit up. James falls limply to the side; he's feeling awfully arrogant, awfully hot, awfully pretty fucking _good_. A grin tugs at his lips as he watches the bloke.

A pink-flushed erection bobs against the bloke's stomach.

* * *

"Let James take care of it." Isn't that what Sirius had said? Then, why does he leave the bloke to wank himself?

It's not as if he wants to watch. . . . Right?

* * *

Reviews greatly appreciated. They make me a happy honey bunny. XD


	17. Chapter 17

"Was I any good?"

The bloke stares at him coolly, hands still fiddling with his tie. He looks like any other Slytherin: prim, proper, and oh so nonchalant. Not a hair out of place, nor a speck on his face. James wonders what the bloke sees when he looks at him. He wonders if he even wants to know.

"Fine for your first time with a bloke," the Slytherin says, "Better than most."

James can't stop the smile spreading across his face. He's sure the Slytherin's can't stop the scowl that pulls his lips.

"Was I, really?"

"Don't let it get to your head now, Potter."

The bloke makes to leave, reaching for the door. And, Merlin, it unsettles James' stomach, and he has to ask, _has_ _to_.

"Will I see you again?"

The Slytherin pauses; he gives James a lopsided sneer.

"What kind of question is that?"

"I mean–" James licks his lips. "I mean, could we – you and I – do that . . ."

"Again?"

"Right."

The Slytherin smiles slightly.

"Most likely not."

James doesn't argue it. He watches gravely as the Slytherin wraps his hand around the doorknob, but doesn't open it. They sit in an unsettling silence, and James cannot help but wonder if the Slytherin had changed his mind.

"Potter?"

James' heart leaps. "Yeah?"

"Did you lock the door?"

"What?"

The Slytherin whips out his wand an points it at the lock; he whispers a firm, "Alohomora," under his breath. He tries the doorknob again; it doesn't doesn'. He pushes against it; it doesn't even make a sound. James' chest sinks into his stomach. That's the only unlocking spell he himself knows.

The bloke looks at James sharply, and soon he is looking down a cold pine wand.


	18. Chapter 18

"You locked the door."

"No! No, I didn't–"

"What the fuck did you do to the door??"

"I didn't! I-I-"

"I knew I couldn't trust a Gryffindor! I knew it–"

"Yelling won't open the door, will it?"

"Open the door."

"I don't know -"

"Try, Potter! Fucking _try_!"

And James tries. With the bloke's wand pressing into his neck, he whips out his own wand and mutters, "Alohomora." There is no click.

"Open it."

It doesn't open it. It doesn't budge.

The Slytherin gives him a hard look. The wand retracts, and James is relieved.

"You really didn't lock it?"

"Of course not," James mumbles, wiping sweat from his brow. "What good would come of me locking myself in here with you?"

The bloke eyes him carefully, but then sighs.

-

The door won't fucking open. They've tried every possible thing – spells, brute force – but it refuses to budge. James contemplates blasting one of the walls. The bloke tells him that he's fucking insane. So, they sit in an awkward silence, awaiting Hooch's wrath when the morning comes.

The bloke clears his throat.

"I know what you did to Snape."

"Hm?"

"What you did to him last year, you know–"

"The trouser thing? Yeah, that was pretty funny."

"Actually, I was talking about the time you almost got Snape chomped by that mon–"

James' blood runs cold, and he doesn't feel attached to his body anymore.

"He . . . isn't a monster!" he growls instantly. He instantly regrets it.

The bloke sneers. His eyes are wide.

"So, you admit it!"

"No! No, I–"

"You nearly got a student killed!" The Slytherin laughs bitterly. "And you weren't expelled, though personally I'd opt for Azkaban!" He shakes his head in disbelief. "I cannot believe Dumbledore, that sick fuck of a Mudblood lover–"

The Slytherin's sentence is cut short by James' fist against his jaw. There is a delicious crunch, and the bloke sprawls backward on the floor. There's blood on James' knuckles. There's blood running own the bloke's chin.

The silence is unsettling. The bloke gingerly touches his lips with his fingertips and stares at the blood comes away with them. Rage twists his face.

"You punched me."

James nods fiercely. He hands clench.

The bloke staggers to his feet. "You fucking _punched_ me!"

"I'll punch you again, you shit," James snarls, "I'll fucking do it again!"

The growl the Slytherin makes when he launches at him is terrifyingly animalistic.

James decides he should've blasted one of those fucking walls the fuck _down_.


	19. Chapter 19

His nose. His nose . . . it doesn't feel right.

It hurts, hurts so fucking bad. Blood is running down his face; he knows because he can feel it run down his face, taste it on his lips.

Fucking Slytherin. He fucking _bit_ him. On his arm. And it fucking _itches_.

He glances over at the offensive bloke on the other side of the room. He looks like a lump, sitting solemnly and cradling his left eye. Fucking arsehole. He deserves it. Fucking deserves it, fucking does.

But, why does he feel so bad?

The bloke looks up suddenly. His face is distorted, distorted with only one thing James can decipher.

Ire. Not anger, not rage, but pure fucking _ire_.

Repulsion. It fills James' chest, warps his mind. How dare he? How fucking dare he? What reason does he have to be angry? He's the one who wouldn't shut his fucking mouth!

"_What_?" The bloke's voice is squawky. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth. James can't deny the satisfaction it gives him.

"Who told you?" James finds himself asking. His voice cracks. "It was Snape, wasn't it?"

The bloke sighs. "Why does it matter?"

"This is my friend we're talking about, my _friend_."

"Snape's your _friend_?" A smile cracks the bloke's face. His teeth are stained red.

"Of course not! I'm talking about . . ."

He stops. He realizes the bloke's aim: he's trying to get the name out of him.

"Lupin."

James turns his head too sharply. It hurts.

"How did you–"

"I didn't," the bloke laughs.

The urge to punch him rises again. James is too tired to move, though.

-

"Max?"

The bundle in the corner barely shifts, but James does notice the crack of an eye.

"Shut your gob, Potter," the bloke mutters bitterly. He holds himself tighter. James wonders why; it's a stuffy, warm evening.

" . . . What time is it?"

"Shut up, Potter."

James scowls.

"Arsehole."

"I'm trying to sleep."

"Really?"

"Yes, now shut up, Potter."

"How can you possibly sleep?"

"It's better than reminding myself of what will happen when Hooch makes her way here."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Forgot about that."

The bloke rolls his eyes. A part of James is glad to see the redness gone. Another part is glad to see the blossoming bruise.

"Of course you would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you and your friends get away with a whole fucking lot. Like when–"

"Unless you want another black eye, I recommend you shut your fucking mouth."

Surprisingly, the Slytherin does.


	20. Chapter 20

The look on Hooch's face when she opens the door is hysterical. James finds himself laughing, but he isn't sure if it's in mirth.

Fuck, his arm itches. Fucking Slytherin fangs.

-

James isn't surprised that Hooch doesn't lead them straight to the Infirmary. He also isn't surprised that Hooch drags the two of them up the flight of stairs to the Headmaster's office. He is surprised, however, to find that McGonagall and Slughorn are all ready on other side of the Headmaster's desk, having a heated conversation with the man.

Dumbledore's eyes lock with James.

Those blue eyes are sparkling. James is unnerved.

"You've found him, Rolanda!" Dumbledore announces. McGonagall and Slughorn turn.

McGonagall's hand strays to her lips.

"Where . . .?"

"The Quidditch shed," Hooch sniffs. She plants James and the Slytherin beside their respected House Head. James glances at the bloke; he's pale, save for the black eye and dried blood on his lip, and is standing stock-still. Scared shitless, he is.

"_The Quidditch shed_?"

"Now," Slughorn says conversationally, "What on Earth would they be doing in a place like that?"

All eyes turn to James and the Slytherin. James feels his face burn.

Fuck. This is why he fucking _hates_ Slytherins.

James swallows. The bloke fidgets.

"Uh . . ."

"W-Well, we, uh . . ."

There's an awkward silence.

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow, but still smiles kindly.

"Perhaps if we speak to you individually . . ."

James opens his mouth.

"_Potter_ can go first."

James eyes snap to the bloke; the Slytherin looks at the Headmaster passively, but James can sense a challenge.

-

When the bloke leaves the room with Slughorn, James cannot help but feel unbelievably alone.

When Slughorn places a hand on the bloke's shoulder, James cannot help but feel unbelievably betrayed.

Fucking Slytherins. Fucking stupid Slytherins.


	21. Chapter 21

James stands awkwardly in the center of the room. He fidgets.

"Minerva?"

McGonagall jerks. She looks at Dumbledore. Dumbledore is looking at James, though.

"Yes?"

"Could you perhaps leave Mr. Potter and me to speak alone?"

James expects McGonagall to say something – _anything_ – but what she does say.

"Of course, Headmaster."

And she leaves, leaves James standing there before Dumbledore.

-

"Take a seat, James."

James complies eagerly. He's still sore, he realizes too late, and winces.

Dumbledore hands are folded. He says conversationally,"Mr. Argyle did a number on you, didn't he?"

Argyle? Max _Argyle_?

"A bit, sir."

"From what I hear, Mrs. Norris spotted you heading to the Quidditch Pitch."

"Did she, sir?"

"Mm-hm. Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, sir. I just–" James chokes on the words, not because he cannot say them, but because he doesn't know what to say. "I just . . . we just . . ." He falls silent.

Dumbledore looks at him with interest; he cocks his head to the side.

"Speechless?" he says thoughtfully, "That isn't like you at all, James."

Yeah, well, James hasn't really been himself for the past few days.

"Hm? Why is that?"

Shit. Did he say that aloud?

"Uh . . ."

"You can tell me, James."

"Uh, I . . ."

I spent the entire week wanting to fuck a Slytherin? Or maybe, I spent the entire week wanting to fuck another _guy_?

Could he possibly tell him that James Potter just might be a . . . a . . . a _faggot_?

James wonders if Dumbledore could believe something so farfetched. Hell, he hardly believes it himself.

"I, uh, just haven't been feeling well, is all."

Dumbledore nods solemnly. He smiles.

"I see. Well. whenever you are willing to tell me about it, I am always here."

Shrewd man, that Dumbledore.

-

Dumbledore doesn't question him on motives. In fact, they end up not speaking of the Slytherin at all. James _is_ punished once McGonagall is invited back into the room: detention for fucking life, he has.

Detention with Filch. Detention with the Slytherin.

James isn't sure who's worse.

-

Once they are finished with him, McGonagall escorts him to the Infirmary.

James locks eyes with the Slytherin.

The Slytherin sneers. James stomach sinks.

He's fucking scared of what he'll tell Dumbledore.


	22. Chapter 22

Pomfrey says there isn't anything she can do about his nose at the moment. "Come back later," she says. James thinks she says that just to fuck with him.

-

"Flobberworm."

"All righ- Oh!" The Fat Lady's hand strays to her mouth. "Oh dear . . ."

"_Flob_-_ber_-_worm_," James grits, instinctively covering his nose.

She swings open, and he rushes through the passage. The Common Room is blessedly vacant because of the hour; he bounds to the dormitory, two steps at a time. Before he can open the door, it opens and reveals a heaving Sirius, eyes mad. James takes a shaky step backward.

Sirius' jaw drops; James feels his face grow hot.

"What the hell happened to your nose?!"

"What do you _think_?" James growls. He makes to walk past Sirius, but he doesn't let him.

A grin cracks Sirius' face. "Ha! I knew you wouldn't do it!"

"Do what?"

"You know . . ." Sirius looks around, then whispers, "_Shag the bloke_. I knew you'd chicken out, I knew it!" he continues in a louder tone. He laughs heartily.

James feels his chest fill with rage.

"What are you talking about? Of course I did it!" he says. "No faggot Slytherin is going to scare me, I thought you knew that."

Sirius stares at James in disbelief. James stares back.

"What is it, Padfoot?" James mutters, his lips twitching with the threat of a grin. His friend's shock lets James brush past him. Everyone's still asleep, Peter's snoring steadily ringing through the room. He wonders what time it is; he realizes his watch isn't on his wrist.

Heading to his bed, hastily wrenching his tie off, James hears Sirius follow him. He turns; Sirius' arms are folded and his stance stiff.

"_What_?"

Sirius' Adam's apple bobs. His eyes swipe up and down.

"You . . . you actually did it."

"Why're you suprised?"

Sirius licks his lips. "I can't believe you actually shagged a bloke, man. I mean, a _bloke_!" He gives James an odd look.

"That makes you a _faggot_, mate."

James covers Sirius' mouth and eyes the room. Remus shifts in his bed, but doesn't seem to be awake. He glares.

"What are you talking about? You're the one that wanted me to do it," James hisses, lowering his hand from Sirius' mouth to fist in his shirt.

The mutt scowls. "I didn't _want _you to do it. Besides, that doesn't mean that you _had _to."

James opens his mouth to retort, but his mind goes blank. "I -"

Dammit. He's _right_. If he didn't want to do it, he didn't have to. He could've told Sirius to go fuck himself. He could've hexed that bloke silly and walked away. _He could've walked away_.

But he didn't.

Instead, he got hot from the sound of them shagging. Instead, he got sucked into the things Sirius would say. Instead, he forced that bloke onto hands and knees and gave him the bonking he'll never forget.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

"You wanted me to," James mutters absently. "You wanted me to, you _did_."

"No," Sirius says earnestly, "No. You were supposed to call me a queer and laugh. That's what was supposed to happen. We were supposed to laugh about it."

There's an unsteady silence. James feels his face twist with rage.

This is situation has gotten too familiar. However, James isn't playing the merciful friend this time.

"_Laugh_?!" he yells, making Sirius jump. "You thought it'd be _funny_?" He pulls him close. He sneers. "I'm not fucking laughing, Black."

Remus peeks his head out just in time to watch James leave.

-

Shit, that Slytherin cunt really did a number on it.

James gingerly touches his nose; there's a sharp, stinging pains that screams broken.

Bastard. Fucking Slytherin bastard. And that Pomfrey. Fuck her her, too, the cunt.

"Who are - ooh!" Moaning Myrtle chirps, "That looks _nasty _. . . "

James frowns at her in the mirror. He's heard a rumor about a ghost haunting the u-bend, but he never thought he'd actually see her.

"Fuck off, will you?" he hisses, but Myrtle only sidles beside him, her smile mean.

"Ooh . . . that looks _really _nasty." She makes to touch it, but James jerks away. It doesn't faze her. "I remember, there was a boy who used to come in here, all banged up, all the time . . . "

She continues, but James manages to tune her out.

-

James doesn't leave the bathroom until well after breakfast starts. With everyone in the Great Hall, it is easier for him to scamper through the halls, through the Gryffindor Common Room. He creeps into the dorm, which is empty, shafts of light creeping from the curtains.

The second he makes it to his bed, Remus' gives a rustle, and the werewolf peeks out at James.

Remus blinks at him, bleary-eyed.

"James . . . ?"

"Yeah?"

" . . . What time is it?"

James gives a relieved sigh and plops onto his bed.

"Time for breakfast, mate."

"Shit, _really_?" Instead of rolling off the bed as James expects, he rolls further onto it. There's a snort. "Sirius'll bring me something, yeah?" he mumbles. It's muffled, as though he's face-first into the pillows.

James swallows. "Yeah . . ."

A few peaceful minutes pass. James manages to keep his mind blessedly quiet; he's just happy to be on his bed, the day's earlier events behind him.

It doesn't take long for Remus to break the silence. "Wait," he says, sounding far more awake, "What're you doing here?"

"Hm?"

"I mean-" There is rustling. James strains his neck to look at his friend; Remus rolls on his back to get a better look at him as well. "Where were you last night?"

"What are you, my girlfriend?"

"I'm being serious, here."

"No, if you were being Sirius, you'd be asking me who I fucked."

Remus makes a sound that may or may not be laughter.

"So that's what you were doing, getting laid?"

"Yeah, I guess you can say that."

"Then, what the hell happened to your nose?"

James is silent for a moment.

"She put up a fight."

Remus surprisingly doesn't question it. He nods and gives a yawn."Did you shag?" he mumbles.

"Course we did."

"Was it any good?"

A frown pulls at James' lips.

"What's it to you?" he growls, sounding much harsher than he'd intended.

Remus raises his hands in defense. "Whoa, whoa. I was just making conversation, mate." He gives him that _look_, that concerned look that forces James to turn away.

Damn it.

With a sigh, James says, "It's all right. . . . And, it was all right, the shag. Pretty good."

"Would you do it again with her?"

James doesn't answer. Remus doesn't prod.

It's Friday, a school day, but there is no way in hell that he's going out there like this. After Remus leaves for class, James spends the rest of the morning poking at his nose, fascinated by the bump jutting out of the bridge that was never there before. It stings a little when he pokes it.

However mishapen his nose, though, he's still a hundred times hotter than fucking Snivellus. Speaking of which, he has a bone to pick with him.

-

Miss Playwizard 1976 shoots James sweet looks all day. When the second strap of her bra snaps loose, though, he figures he can't ignore her any longer.

Peter won't appreciate the stains on his precious mag, but Miss Playwizard reaches for it with a look of practiced desire. No matter how practiced it is, it still sends shivers through him. She looks like someone he knows, someone he cannot very well recall the name of . . .

He longs for a cigarette. He can't turn away from her.

How did that song go again? "And now, my nights ain't quite so lonely. In fact, I don't feel bad at all . . ."

-

He could have sworn Pete had a free period around lunch, but soon dinner comes around, and James hasn't seen hair nor hide of anyone.

It's upsetting, not that he would admit it.

On a positive note, though, Pomfrey sends for him.


	23. Chapter 23

Hot damn, people still read this? And, I haven't updated since September! Might as well continue it, yeah? Though, it might end in two or three chapters.

-

The Infirmary. A place that James has become all too familiar with. With Remus' furry little problem and, well, his, Sirius, and Peter's little problem (Stupidity, Remus calls it, but he just needs to loosen up more), the Infirmary has become a second Common Room.

"You've broken your nose so many times, spells most likely won't work on it."

James looks down at the salve then back at Pomfrey.

"_What_?"

Pomfrey raises an eyebrow. "After a few times, just using a spell on a broken bone won't fix it completely," she says sternly. "I needed this salve from Professor Slughorn."

Slughorn. Bastard.

"Now," Pomfrey shoves the container into James' hands, "Just rub a handful of this on your nose, and it should mend in an hour or so."

" . . . If I only need a handful, why're you giving me the entire thing?"

Pomfrey gives him a familiar look; he answers his own question.

He figures he won't be seeing her for a good while.

-

James doesn't speak face-to-face with the bloke for the rest of the year. The first day of his detention, he finds that the bloke will serve his punishment with Slughorn instead. Sucking the fat man's prick, probably. That thought, however, doesn't lighten James' mood much when he's tossed in the trophy room with a rag and bucket.

Despite the bloke's disappearance, he sure pops up more than Sirius. After that morning, Sirius' presence has been practically nonexistent; James might see him here and there in the dorm or at meals, but he's usually out of sight at any other time. Remus, too, now that he thinks about it. Normally, he would have worried that something had happened to Remus or the like, but, instead, his mind desperately ponders if they're fucking, if Sirius fucking has Remus pinned against a stall while James and Peter sit in the Common Room in silence.

James can't mask the revulsion he feels whenever he thinks about it. Blessedly, Peter doesn't mention that he's snapped four quills this week alone.

-

A week before the end of his sixth year, James receives an owl.

It's a barn owl—a school owl—with a nasty disposition and a crumpled ball of parchment clutched in its claw. James takes the parchment and expects the bird to leave, but it remains rooted in Peter's toast, much to the latter's distress. Peter tries shooing it away; the beak snaps at his fingers, and Peter doesn't press any further.

"Who's it from?" Remus asks quietly as James smooths out the parchment. The ink is still wet and smears across his hands and the paper.

James doesn't answer him, his mind wrapping around the words on the paper.

Potter,

Transfiguration Rm. 003, after dinner,

Bring the werewolf.

It ends there with no signature to speak of. James, however, remembers that classroom number.

Mind foggy with rage, he staggers to his feet and leaves the Great Hall in a hurry, ignoring Peter calling out to him and Remus trotting behind. He just makes it down the hall before Remus grabs his arm, hard. James' eyes flick from Remus' hurt expression to the parchment clutched in his hand. He swallows.

"What . . ." Remus begins. His voice is high-pitched with panic. "What is this?"

And James tells him. He pushes him against the wall and tells him, teeth bared, "That, Remus, that is what happens when you trust Sirius-fucking-Black." He jabs a finger into the taller's chest; Remus' cheeks flush with fear. "That is what happens when you let Sirius-fucking-Black turn you into a . . . a . . ." The words die on his tongue, and he let's Remus go with a sharp step backward.

Remus remains there, staring.

Fuck. He's said too much.

Just as James makes to turn away, Remus, head hung low, says in a small voice, ". . . It's that guy, isn't it?"

The words turn James cold, and he freezes mid-step.

"The one you and Padfoot were talking about, the one you . . . it's him, isn't it?"

James can't very well deny it at this point. He turns away.

Remus bites his lip.

"Oh."

-

After dinner that day, Remus is nowhere to be found. James doesn't blame him.


End file.
